I'll Die to Save You
by jiapryor
Summary: -PERCY- You don't want to die; you just want them to change their perspectives. You wonder if it's too late to take it all back.


**I own nothing. It talks about some things that aren't light. **

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A multitude of thoughts have weaved themselves throughout your brain, attempting to figure out the adequate way to do what you need to do. You picture it as something artistic that you'll be doing—everyone has his/her separate ways of going about it. It deeply wounds you that critical people look down upon you, and that they view what you're going to do as crude.

It offends you, but it doesn't give you a reason to do what you need to do.

People didn't cause you to be how you are now. It wasn't their fault, and you know it. You just need something to place the blame on so that burden doesn't add to your accumulating heap. They didn't know that you were insecure about yourself. None of them were cognizant that you had already resolved your problem without their unwanted assistance.

You've never been imprudent, and you don't like it when people throw a stereotypical label on you just because you're not the image everyone else has conjured up for you. They refuse to see you for what you really are, and that disheartens you because you feel that people could trump the visage that has been projected and conquer human categorization.

You know that you're not like all of the other people who are attempting what you're about to do. They thoughtlessly assume that no one will care for them once they're dead—that it will be better off for _everyone_ if it's 'this way.' But you, you're very much aware that people will be emotionally damaged, but you have confidence that they will get over it in due time. After all, if you succeed, you won't be _completely_ gone from them. You'll be quite reachable… physically, at least.

Your house is empty. It's not a symbolic representation of you. You feel rejuvenated abruptly. You don't know why—when have you ever known why?—but your face is graced with an unintentional wiry smirk of relief that contradicts the ever-present anxiety in your sea green irises.

You carefully bring all of your clothes from the laundry room into your bed room only to discard them messily in a corner. Once against, you're left not understanding why you do some of the things you do.

You want to regret what you're about to do, but—even though it's not too late—you don't find a reason for stopping.

Before you know what you're doing, the glass is filled to the rim with Clorox and an abundant of other cleaners you've blended together. You finger the mop of thick jet-black hair atop your head, releasing an exasperated sigh as it limply falls into its original place. Anxiously, your hands are trembling. The liquid is sloppily thrown against the inside of the glass.

You glance down and you see the glass at your lips. Your head is tilted back as you drain the contents of the glass. You find yourself going back for more despite its atrocious taste. After three cups, you feel that your taste buds have been dissolved by the chemicals.

With your throat rapidly burning, you feel it already beginning its enchanted effects on your body. You realize your vision is blurry after you strain your eyes to read what's being displayed on the muted television. Your breathing gradually begins to worsen to the point where you're silently pleading to yourself to call 911 to undo this blunder—what you've unknowingly begun to refer to _it_ as. .

With great difficulty, you form a coherent thought. _It's not a mistake,_you say crossly in your head._This is what I needed._

You can no longer think straight; the pain in your abdomens is taking over. You swear aloud.

Leisurely, it will dissolve you inside out, scarring your innards. You wonder if they'll come in time. If they don't, no harm is done. After all, you took the risk. You wonder if they will ever know what your true intentions were. No, you didn't want to die. You didn't want to escape from all of the pressures of life. It's quite simple really: you didn't want to dissolve into the scenery of life.

You're very much perplexed about your life, and though you shouldn't be, you continued to walk in circles, continued that repetitive path that you swore you would never follow. You want to scream, but you know someone will hear you. Instantly, you become unsure of your motives for doing this.

Before you feel yourself drifting into unconsciousness, you make up your mind.

You're not suicidal; you just wanted to be the one to display alternate possibilities to the often mentioned hypothetical 'what if(s).'

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**Did everybody get who the character was...? **  
**If not, it was Percy -_- **

**Review? Make my night? **

**Well, just thank you for reading through this crap! :)**


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